


Early Morning Rain

by ghosthorse_tracks



Category: Casablanca (1942)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Rain, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthorse_tracks/pseuds/ghosthorse_tracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being left alone on a train platform in the rain once can cause enough pain for a lifetime. Twice might drive a man mad with heartache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Morning Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meh_guh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/gifts).



> Title comes from the Peter, Paul and Mary tune of the same name. Make of that what you will. Happy Yuletide!

And on top of it all, it just had to start raining. 

Rick leaned against the armrest of a bench, listening to the insistent rain pound against his hat, watching it stream down pathetically in front of his eyes. It blurred the dull scenery of the train platform — people in trenchcoats wandering about; sad smiles between parting lovers; scores of goodbyes, only some of which were permanent. People in pairs, people in trios — and then there was Rick, standing alone, waiting. 

Being left alone on a train platform in the rain once can cause enough pain for a lifetime. Twice might drive a man mad with heartache. 

Oh, and he'd done it with such finesse, such style, such arrogance, the same way he did everything. "I'll be right back. Don't miss me," he'd said before taking a glance about the train platform and giving him a kiss, so quick you'd blink and miss it. Rick blinked, and he missed it, just like the dozens of oblivious people milling about them, too wrapped up in their own troubles and romances to notice one more. Before he knew it, Louis had disappeared into the thickening fog, as Ilsa's plane had done on that fateful evening not so long ago. 

The rain began to fall harder, and Rick could no longer see the people wandering about, fading in and out of the fog like apparitions. For once, reality was as blurry and dreamlike as his memories. 

He remembered the uncertainty of his first few days of traveling with Louis. The fog from the night they fled Casablanca still lingered at the first station, and it seemed to have thickened rather than thinned. Although Rick knew Louis wasn't far from him, in the fog, thick like the cigarette smoke they constantly drowned themselves in, he couldn't tell if Louis was just in front of him or just behind him. "Louis, I can't see damn near anything," he complained, silently cursing himself for allowing his voice to betray his worry. Watching in front of him, he could see the outline of the train platform and a few shadows which might have been people, but nothing else, and certainly not Louis. 

He felt a hand clasp his from somewhere behind him, and he heard a familiar voice. "You're not too masculine to hold hands out of necessity, are you, Ricky?" the voice teased. It was Louis, of course. Rick smiled as his worry evaporated into amusement, and he was thankful for the fog.

On that first train, they hadn't bothered with a sleeper car, partly because they didn't think they needed one and partly because they needed to save their money — it was a long way to Brazzaville. The seats in the small, cramped car were almost as hard as the eyes of the passengers, a middle-aged man and woman, sitting across from them, staring at them as if trying to figure them out. Rick could imagine their mental deliberations: he and Louis didn't look alike enough to be brothers, and they didn't have enough of an age difference to be father and son or uncle and nephew, yet they looked at each other too knowingly to be colleagues or strangers. Unable to reach a verdict on the relationship between the two men sitting across from them, the man and woman stared harder. 

As the early morning rain beat down on the metal roof of the train like a hail of gunfire, Rick let Louis rest his head on his chest and fall asleep. After all, it wasn't as if he had a choice. The narrow escape from Casablanca had wearied them both, Louis especially. He no longer wore his conspicuous military uniform, having hastily changed into some of Rick's civilian clothes. What fit Rick so well looked dismal on Louis; the too-long pants and too-tight shirt accentuated all the wrong places on his already unappealing body. Rick wondered if the uniform might have been less conspicuous after all. 

The strangers watched and whispered, and the rain reached a crescendo. Rick, always so calm and brave, longed for the security of Casablanca and Sam and a stiff drink. He longed for Paris, and he longed for New York, distantly. But most of all, he longed to be far away from Louis Renault and the prying eyes of strangers. 

"Ricky, are you still out there?"

Rick leaned against the wall outside the fitting room of some shop near the next train station where they'd gone to find Louis some clothes that fit him decently. He rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "Yes, dear. Get moving, or we'll miss our train."

Louis emerged in a shirt and tie that fit him surprisingly well. "Does it fit to your standards? After all, you're the stylish one here." 

Rick momentarily rethought his opinions on Louis' physique as he let his eyes wander, and he remembered how he'd sometimes looked in his uniform. But it was only for a moment; he snapped out of it quickly enough. "It's fine. Let's just hope it's within our price range. And we don't want to miss that train." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and turned on his heel back toward the station so that Louis was no longer in his sights. 

"I want a sleeper car on this train," Rick insisted as they stood at the station not long after. The rain and fog had cleared, leaving a sunny blue sky above. 

"I'm afraid we can't afford one if we expect to ever reach Brazzaville. And looking this sharp comes with a price…"

"Make it two. I'm having my own."

"Well, if you insist on a sleeper car, it would be in our best interest to share one. After all, wouldn't want to be stuck alone with me in the middle of Africa if, say, we run out of money, would you, Ricky? You're always talking about making sacrifices."

He wouldn't have admitted it for the world, but being alone with Louis in the middle of Africa didn't sound so awful. Among the strange people and strange landscape, Louis was constant and familiar, like the stars and the moon. He thought again of the staring strangers intruding upon him and his innocently sleeping Louis like visions in a nightmare. The rank sentimentalist in him refused to allow it to happen again, and from then on, they shared a sleeper car. 

Rick grew accustomed to awakening to find Louis sprawled across the bed, limbs dangling haphazardly over the edge. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of a great weight atop him, which of course was Louis, a great snoring mass of a man, but one he couldn't help but like nonetheless. Sometimes he would nudge Louis to the side, where he belonged, but other times, he thought of his companion saying, "Round up the usual suspects," and he would let him lie there in peace. 

Once, they missed their train. It had been nobody's fault, merely the fault of fate or of God himself. The two men, sitting at the station, sweated under the African sun. Rick shook his head. "We sure picked a hell of a day to miss our train." He took off his hat, resisting the urge to fan himself with it. The sweat on his brow turned his black hair blacker and made his skin gleam.

Louis had removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. "How long until the next one?"

Rick glanced at his watch and sighed. "Two hours."

The empty, scorching air hung eerily silent over the two men who awkwardly refused to look at each other. Some found peace in silence, but not them. They found their peace in crowded stations and the echoing mechanical chatter of moving trains. In the silence, they had only forbidden thoughts and unspoken words between them, to separate them. 

Only Louis had the bravery, or perhaps the cowardice, to break the silence. "I can see how all those women fell for you."

"Oh, can you?" Rick reached in his pocket for a cigarette only to find that he'd smoked them all already. 

"There's something about you," Louis said dreamily, resting his head in one hand. "Sometimes, when we're together on the train, I feel so —"

"Would you quit it?" Rick cut him off. He instinctively reached in his pocket for a cigarette again and became frustrated when it still escaped him. The heat of the day was beginning to get to him, driving up his pulse and blurring his vision. 

"I didn't mean to irritate you." Smirking deviously now, Louis reached out to touch his thigh, but Rick pushed his hand away. "What's the matter? Afraid to fall in love again after Ilsa?"

Rick wondered how anyone could retain his sense of humor in such oppressive heat but figured that if anyone could, it was Louis. Louis who adored him for no reason at all, traveled with him, shared his bed. Everything worth having they shared, in rain, fog, and blazing sun. Rick clenched his fists, longing for the pounding of the rain on the metal awning above them, for anything that might drown out the silence, for in silence there was a truth he refused to face. 

Men weren't supposed to feel this way about other men. They could feel attached, even deeply connected with one another, but never romantically, and never openly. He felt Louis touch his thigh again, and this time he didn't brush him off. He didn't resist as Louis traced his hands up Rick's legs to his back, where they remained. The heat seemed to intensify as Louis led him into a shaded alcove and leaned in for a long kiss while no one was watching. Rick resisted at first but soon became enveloped in the delicate, calculated motions of Louis' practiced lips. He knew his attempts to resist were over, that they would come back to this again and again. Exhilaration knew no morals. 

In the evening, they retired to their sleeper car, and they were thankful to finally be alone. They rushed to the bed, clutching at each other in the darkened compartment. No thoughts, no words — just blind action as hats and shoes fell to the floor. 

Their lips met for the second time that day, desperate and pleading, and the rain began to pour down, resounding on the metal roof of the train, creating an echo that intensified as the rain poured harder and the lovers drew closer. Rick trembled, trying to drown out the utter wrongness of what he was doing by thinking only of the rain, the incessant rain that pounded like a chorus of heartbeats into eternity…

Rick slipped out of his reverie. The rain had stopped, and he stood, dripping pathetically, in front of Louis, who held an umbrella and a bottle of liquor. 

Louis smiled, dripping also. "I suppose I'm a little late with the umbrella, but I figured you'd appreciate a stiff drink in any weather." When Rick failed to smile, Louis raised an eyebrow and laughed. "What, did you think I'd left permanently?"

Rick reached into his pocket for two cigarettes, one for each of them. He paused briefly, avoiding Louis' eyes as he said, "No. I knew you'd come back, and even if you didn't, I —" He caught Louis' eyes, realized his callous facade wasn't fooling anyone, and broke into a smile. "— well, I guess I could've gotten along alright without you."

Louis lit the cigarette dangling from Rick's mouth before lighting his own. He smiled. "You know, taking life so seriously is no good for your heart."

"If we don't hurry, we'll miss our train."

"And always in a hurry!" Louis laughed. "If you don't slow down a little, you'll drive yourself crazy before we reach Brazzaville."

"I suppose you're right." As they passed into the crowd of people waiting to board, they clasped hands, firmly and without shame. Rick closed his eyes and felt the people rushing about them, felt the warmth and security of Louis' hand in his, and for a moment, it was Casablanca all over again.


End file.
